You’ll always be mine. Always. And never.
Yes, I am still in a Sin City haze. Why does life have to imitate art gaddemit?! And here I was trying to switch into full-blown yuppie mode by making “goals”. *dies laughing*
- Lose 10 pounds before February and attain my human-clothes-hanger look just for the sake of winning a damned bet. (This seems to be easy lately as life has been beating me to pulp. Fate seemed to figure out that I’d never diet sincerely so it decided to take matters into its own hands.)
- Amass cash like crazy. Be a veritable Scrooge and turn kakuriputan into a lifestyle. Just for emergency purposes. 🙂
- Iron my clothes. At least the work-related ones.
- Apply for a visa to England. I have to leave this goddamned place. I’ve discovered that my survival is vitally linked to my independence and I cannot be happy without it — no matter how many happiness substitutes (i.e. orgs, parties, hobbies, money) I try to get while I’m here. I used to like it here… but I’m not a child anymore.
I’m on a chocolate-induced sugar high. I was not going to eat those pralines but they were sitting there looking all welcoming and pretty (like sossy little co-eds), practically shouting “EAT ME!” in tiny warm voices. First the candy box, then the cookie jar, and now the chocolate plate. Steffi, you have no conscience.